


Shadowhunter Oneshot Collection

by orphan_account



Category: Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy - Cassandra Clare, The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Multi, Other, Shadowhunters - Freeform, minifics, oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:52:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9421355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: All my old Shadowhunter oneshots from my Tumblr days. Mostly TID, but quite a few TMI too.





	1. Sick Days (TID)

Tessa was a flurry of hands, skirts, and a rotating assortment of supplies from the kitchen. Accompanied by coughing and shouts following her at her heels, she ran in and out of the kids' rooms, trying to settle down but not before another shout summoned her.

            Will peered out of his office worriedly. He’d been trying to get some Institute work done, but with Tessa running around he couldn’t stop his worrying. He dropped the papers in a hasty pile and found his wife on the floor of the main hall, looking exhausted. He squatted down next to her, not looking like she noticed his presence.

            “Tessa? What’s wrong, you haven’t been with it all day.”

            “Hm?” she glanced up at him, looking very tired. Will was pretty sure she had just been asleep.

            “What’s going on?” She snapped into at least as much attentiveness as required to answer him, saying sleepily words of utter dread.

            “James and Lucie both have a cold.”

            “We must call the Silent Brothers right now!” Will proclaimed without a hitch, already dashing off to the office. Tessa grabbed at the loose fabric of his trousers, dryly stating protests. He didn’t notice and dragged her along, uncurling her from her position on the floor, but she held on until he finally stopped. She was flat against the ground at that point, Will trying to help her up.

            “No, Will. You cannot keep calling the Silent Brothers for every problem you have. They’re getting quite annoyed.” Her voice softened as she carried on, although the look on Will’s face already told her he knew what she was about to say. “We both miss Jem, but I think it hurts you-us-more to see him like that, not the Jem we remember. Calling the Silent Brothers whenever you get a headache isn’t going to bring him back for good. Also, Brother Enoch scared Lucie tremendously.” Will have a halfhearted laugh at that, the remorsefulness still souring his beautiful face. Tessa put a hand on his shoulder, both to comfort him and steady herself.

            A sudden sneeze from her dragged them both out of their sorrowful nostalgia. Will looked at her, pure horror converting the sadness on his face moments ago.

            “Tessa! You’re sick now!” She waved it away as Will fussed at her, saying she was fine, it was nothing, but Will wouldn’t budge.

            “Theresa Herondale get to bed right now!” he shouted over her protests, grabbing her waist and directing them toward their bedroom.

            “Normally you don’t say that with such a harsh tone,” she said between coughs. He cracked a smile despite everything else, and they ignored the incoming wave of needy shouts from the kids as Will situated Tessa in the bed.

            “Honestly Will, I’m _fine._ Besides, it’s not like _you’re_ going to do all the housework, take care of the kids, _and_ manage the Institute. There’s a Clave meeting soon!” Her coughing fit shortly after her declaration, plus a moan as the consistent stream of sneezes reddened her cheeks and face, didn’t help her argument. Will wouldn’t hear any of it. He left Tessa in bed along with a book, he knew that even though she was sick, being deprived of that would have made her miserable. He started trailing around after the kids’ shouts and orders as Tessa had that morning. He’d just left James with a glass of water and a waster stele, he stumbled into the kitchen, although he hadn’t nearly been on duty very long. He began to make dinner, then regretted letting the cook off since there were no visitors, and typically Tessa cooked (her cooking was _far_ better than Ms. Harper’s, the cook they’d hired after Bridgit left for a restaurant in London.) He delivered bowel of soup he stirred together much later than when he started. Tessa looked at him concerned when he came in with actual _food_ (Will was a dreadful cook for meals, he couldn’t do anything without instruction or some kind of a mess.) She waved it off with a cough, let him go to the kids, but he saw her slip the soup onto the bedside table before he left.

            James said his was to cold, and almost threw a fit, but Will switched his with Lucie’s and then all was fine. After a sip James got a sour twist on his face, but Will left, even after his son gave a tremendously wet sounding sneeze.

            “Daddy, I feel _awwwwwfuuuulllll_ ,” Lucie moaned when Will came into her room. Out of the three of them, she was probably the least miserable. She was on the floor playing with her dolls, surrounded by a number of picture books. A couple little wooden toys that Will made were at her feet. With her healthy condition, only a little sniffle of her nose here and there, Will assumed her big sigh was only for dramatics. Will groaned internally. _Why did they have to be so much like me?_ He said to no one particularly, as he set Lucie’s lunch at her side.

            “Aw, well, eating something will make you feel better.”

            “But-“

            “I’m sure by tomorrow mommy and James will be just fine, and maybe we can go over to the Lightwoods!”

            Cleary that wasn’t a good idea in the minds of either of them, but Lucie just sighed, no hint of sickness anywhere. Will decided he was too tired and let her keep up her charade, and he left her playing on her floor.

            He stalked off sluggishly to their room, Tessa not noticing his entrance, too caught up in her book and whipping her nose to notice. She practically jumped when he crashed on the bed.

            “Our children are so demanding when they’re ill,” he mumbled through the sheets. Tessa just laughed.

            “Yes Will, they are so much like you it’s startling.”

            He shot her the grumpiest look he could muster, then turned over to lay on his back.

After a while, Tessa said, her voice filled with teasing satisfaction. “You’re next you know.”

“What?”

“To get sick. The rest of us have,” Will snorted, thinking of Lucie, “so you’re next.”

“Nonsense,” he replied assuredly, “I’m too manly to get sick.”

“What about your son?” Tessa scoffed.

“He is but a mere boy. The challenges of sickness have no power to wear me down.”

Tessa left no reply after this, but a moment later, Will sneeze.

“Bloody Hell!” He shouted, surprisingly not in Welsh, and the kids shouted asking what was wrong, while Tessa was stuck coughing and laughing. Will gave her a grumpy look.

“No, of course not. You’d never get sick. Never.”

 


	2. Will, Tessa, and the Horrors of Ice Skating (TID)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will hates ducks but loves Tessa (like always lol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fic of I anything I wrote... ever. Wow. Yikes.

“Come on, Will! You’re fine,” Tessa assured him, a laugh tracing her voice. The look of unease on Will’s pale face was enough to question her gift, the bright pair of ice-skates that were now poorly laced on his feet.

            During their “courtship” Tessa figured she would take Will somewhere, rather than having him be her tour guide and giving him nothing but false appreciative smiles and nods in return, no matter how she longed for him to be the old Will. But she hadn’t seen that Will since Jem left to the Silent City, taking Will’s jokes and smiles and high regard for books along with him. She thought they would enjoy skating together, as Tessa and Nate had back in New York every Christmas when the ponds would freeze over. Nate often abandoned her after making sure she was situated in her skates and could stand up to go off with his other friends, but she always loved the chill of winter and the flush of excitement against her cheeks that skating brought. As an early Christmas gift, Tessa presented Will with a box of ice-skates that she had asked Henry to make as a favor, giving him a copy of a thick building manual for a factory machine, sure he would find a way to twist it as his own invention. She had made sure no special modification were made by Henry as a test before wrapping them. When Will opened it, he was so confused she considered playing the gift off a joke.

            “You got me ugly white boots with knives on the bottom? How ever will I walk, and what good are the knives like that?” he inquired. A nervous laugh followed, and she did her best to explain to him that they were for skating, not maiming a demon with the underside of your shoe.

            Now, shivering to their bones despite their warm coats by a pond just outside London, Will was wobbling and muttering about the uselessness of the “bloody boots.”

            “How on Earth is this enjoyable, Tessa? I feel as if a duck is gnawing on my heels.” After his grumpy proclamation a look of utter fear crossed his face.  Crossing the edge between the fresh snow and the smooth ice, he gripped onto the sleeve of Tessa’s thick coat and glanced around them, the cloudy winter sky revealing no hint of danger other than a few loose snowflakes.

            “Dear God, they’re coming,” he mumbled and tried to redirect Tessa’s easy glides over to the carriage.

            “Who on Earth is searching for you here, Will? Is it…” she thought for a moment and would have laughed if it weren’t for Will’s look of pure petrification and his desperate struggling.

            “You’re worried about the ducks,” Tessa stated, for no other enemy of Will’s would ever plan an attack on him at a pond, for sure. “Well,” she continued, still easily guiding his ungraceful movements farther from the shore, “if they come after you, you now have the blades on your shoes as easy defense. And you said they were useless.”

            Will stood up from his crouched position, part, Tessa thought, to steady himself and also to keep a watch on the feathered foes.

            “This whole _idea_ is useless, if the skates may have their uses. It’s just like roller-blading, also an unwise activity, just on ice. We could have as easily took a nice, less freezing stroll around down town London, or-“

            “QUACK!”

            “ _Uffern nef!”_ Will shouted and he flailed around, desperately trying to keep balance but landing hard on his back despite his efforts. Tessa bent over laughing and nearly fell herself, and when Will tried to grab onto her for balance, or to pull her down with him, she merrily skated away, laughing so hard she was silent.

            “Tessa! Don’t you _ever,_ do something so terrifying ever again! You know how I feel about ducks!”

            “Oh, yes.”

            “Now, will you please help me up?”

            “Oh, no.” She circled him giddily, watching him as he struggled to stand up. Who would have thought someone so graceful with a weapon in hand would be so ungraceful on ice with blades on their feet? “You will have to catch me,” she teased ruffling his hair which pushed him further on the ice in a tangle of limbs.

            He finally pulled himself to a kneeling position, too cautious to try any more than that. He jolted up when Tessa started to fade more and more amid the snow, her coat and scarf covered in white sprinkles. He imagined he didn’t fare better, but he could still look handsome covered in snow and falling gracelessly on his bum. He doubted many other men could claim the same.

            His legs shaking, he propelled himself forward, catching on to the gliding motion that guided him seamlessly across the ice. The wind stung with cold snow, making his cheeks red, striking against the white world around them. Though, he knew he would never admit it, he began to enjoy himself, for he found skating much more relaxing as the jolts of his untrained feet lessen and the glides became easy and powerful.

            Tessa was much caught up in making fast circles around another corner of the pond, so when Will caught up to her she twirled right into his arms, throwing both of them slightly off balance. She gasped and the tip of their blades clashed together which they took a moment to recover from before giving each other a smile. Their warm breath fogged in the air and Will wrapped his arms around Tessa and rubbed her shoulders, their warmth mingling together. Breaking his former vow, Will confessed tiredly.

            “I guess this isn’t so bad. _And_ , not that useless.” His eyes playfully told her that the latter confession was untrue, but at least he forgot about his former trepidation.

            “You’re getting better by the minute, too. Pretty soon you will be skating across the frozen ocean, all the way to America.” He rolled his eyes, knowing her exaggeration was just that and only that.

            After a moment she slipped her hand in his, though difficult with the damp material of their thick gloves between them. He looked so startled she thought he may have seen a duck. Against Tessa’s restrain, thoughts of Jem swarmed her mind as she attempted to push them out. Jem was gone. It was just her and Will now. Surely just a simple gesture wasn’t too suggestive, after what they did in Wales. Declaration of endless love and hand holding were far from each other in a lineup of intense romantic gestures.

            He swallowed, and after a moment even smiled and squeezed her hand tighter. A tension Tessa was unaware of suddenly loosened, and she pulled Will along with her. He was able to keep up this time, save for some trips and hitches in his glides.

            A crooked smile hitched up his face and he asked, his voice questionably serious, “Tessa?”

            “Hm?”

            “Tell me, honestly now, when I fell, did I – I fall in a way that made you swoon?” Her laugh cut through the freezing air.”

            “No, not in any sense. You looked like a child so eager to get downstairs on Christmas that you tripped and plummeted the length of them and then were run over by the family dog.”

            “Well, at least it was theatrical.”

            “Everything you do is theatrical.” After she saw an idea blossoming in his eyes and his arm start to rise up in a theatrical motion she suddenly kissed him to prevent his further actions. It worked, to say the least. He drew in a breath and she felt him start to pull away, but his poor coordination prevented him as he slipped on his skates and he kissed her back. His hand curled around her damp mass of hair that she before wished she put up but was now grateful she didn’t, while she fastened her arms around his waist, not too close to bump their skates again. His warmth stung her skin and she didn’t want to let go and face the cold but she did.

            “Tessa…” he murmured after she pulled away, and she cut off his scolding/speech/regret sure to come.

            “Is your preposition for strolling in London still on?” his guilty look softened and she and him skated back somewhat roughly over to the opposite end of the pond, to where the carriage awaited.

            Before Tessa could warn him or skid to a stop, a small, tan, fluffy animal blocked their way. Tessa reversed her course and went around it but Will unfortunately was too slow to catch on and barreled straight into the snow bank behind the animal.

            “Will!” Tessa shouted anxiously. But she did not reach him before he uncovered himself from the snow, and, to Tessa’s horror, spotted the creature. The screaming that accompanied the flurry of tossed snow and limbs pierced the air, and drove Cyril from the carriage. Tessa waved him away, and after assessing the situation he obliged with a laugh.

            “Quack, quack, quack,” the baby duck skittered around on the ice, looking as bewildered at Will and Tessa as an animal would manage.

            Calming Will proved somewhat challenging, but she got him to stand, snow coating his thick black hair, drips falling down to his eyelashes and wetting his cheeks. A new angry flush brightened him as he shouted a few more Welsh words that Tessa recognized frightfully easily as swearing at the duck, who did not look back.

            “Will, it’s not even a full duck, it’s just a baby.”

            “Everyone pays for the sins of their father, Tessa, no matter age or species.”

            Tessa rolled her eyes although she smiled. “Come on. We can go back now. I didn’t drag you out here to stain those shoes with blood and use them for your previously entitled purposes.”

            “God I hate skating.”

            “You love it. Just not the ducks.”

            “Incorrect. I _hate_ ducks, I _like_ skating, and I _love_ you.” His confused look on his words most likely mirrored her own, although she did not dismiss the joyful satisfaction of hearing them. She blushed as Will looked away nervously.

            “So, London sounds good, as long as we can change out of these dreadful shoes.” She half forced the smile that came, hoping today would be a break from tour-guide-Will, but she saw him, _her_ Will, coming back, defrosting along with the snow in his hair, so she figured she could handle his formal and courtly activities, for now.                                                                           

            “So on to London we go.” They stumbled back to the carriage where Cyril took their direction and heeded the horses on their way without a single comment on the status of Tessa and Will’s snowy appearance, although Tessa saw the faint teasing smile, all too familiar to his brother’s.


	3. Rusty Tears (TID)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Clockwork Prince ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only depressing one so yeappp

Will ran from Magnus’ and Woosley’s flat with more determination and speed than he had ever run from any demon. For now, all of his demons were gone.

            For nearly five years he had been unaware of the tightening angst and restrain building up like a dam in his chest, and within an hour, the dam broke, flooding him with more energy and hope than he believed he had ever felt before. He hardly noticed the rain, the harsh cries of the passerby as he pushed past. Before he would have taken their cries of indignation as a sign of him doing his job to keep his surrounding companions safe, but now he could do anything, be anyone, say anything and not have to force all the hate and wickedness in him to be the representation of his deepest love.

            His paced slowed as he neared the institute, and suddenly fear gripped the place where his elation just minutes before rested. What would anyone think of him now when he told them of his curse? Would they even believe him? Or would the hate and indifference he’d worked for come back in his face. No, he told himself. He ran from his first family. He could not, _would not_ , lose this one. For if Will lost Jem and Charlotte and Henry and Tessa, he would have nothing.

            _Tessa._ Her judgment scared him the most. He said bad things, horrible, inexcusable things to her, all because he loved her. Jem would forgive Will, he knew, or hoped, for nothing Will did ever made Jem truly despise him. But Tessa was not one to trust lightly to the people who hurt her. Her own brother betrayed her, and she wasn’t even related to Will. He’d done so much to hurt her and he now expected nothing of her but to love him. Despite Magnus’ positive words, Will’s anxiety built up, because Tessa would never love him after all the things he did. But if that was true, then Will believed she at least deserved an explanation for his behavior other than believing he thought her worthless forever. If anyone was worthless, it was him.  

            The bleak walls of the institute were faded with night. The residents long ago left to bed, but Will had no restraint over his feet, and they carried him down the corridors to Tessa’s room. He was thankful for his noiseless rune, he could have woken up everyone with his careless stampeding otherwise. And he wasn’t quite ready to confess to everyone the core of his bitterness all these years. For a moment he wondered if he should tell James. Jem always knew that there was a heavy albatross of Will’s, but no way how to help him. But now that it had been lifted, Will felt little pain for his _parabatai._ He was the only one Will indulged in loving. It was Jem’s love that had kept him going. He doubted he’d have lasted without Jem’s patience, his endearment, his smile. No matter how much Will loved Tessa, it was Jem who saved him.

            With the little patience he had, Will knocked on Tessa’s door firmly, unable to cease the nervous tapping of his feet or ruffling his hair. He waited as he heard no sound behind the carved wood. Against his moral judgment, he twisted the knob lightly and pushed in the door slowly. It was one thing to barge into a lady’s room, and it was another to barge in and wake her.

            The room was as dark as the rest of the institute, save for a candle lit on the nightstand next to the bed. Will tiptoed lightly farther from the door way, until he could see that the warm light revealed a messy, empty bed. The covers strewn aside, and a book thrown next to the candle, but no Tessa in between the covers. Will suddenly guarded himself. Tessa had hit him on the head with a jug before. She had quite a reason to do it now. Glancing behind him and seeing no signs of a foray against him, he continued, his heart thudding. The beats transmitted all through his body until he heard no other sound and could think of nothing else than his pounding heart, and Tessa.

            The room was rather bare, he observed. The closer he walked toward the bed and saw no signs of Tessa the more agitated he became. All alarms shot up through his veins when after a closer inspection revealed blood splatters on the fabric of the cast aside sheets. The stains shown bright in the light of the flame, the rest of the room dull in comparison. Will pulled out the seraph blade sheathed in his belt, and he nearly slashed down when his foot struck something limp on the cold floor.

            The ache of realization he was never cursed was nothing compared to the pure agony he felt through his whole body when he recognized the figure splayed on the ground as Tessa. Immediately he dropped to her side. No words could describe the utter panic he felt as he squinted to see her in the faint light

            Her hand loosely tangled in the sheets reaching up from the floor was covered in blood. Her nightgown was streaked with blood despite the surrounding area being clean of any of it. He chocked, noises of whimpering like a dying dog strangled his throat when he saw the deep gash in her heart. Springs and gears were put around the blood and revealing guts like decorations for a summer home. Her lips were parted, drained a pale pink, ringed with her hair, curling around her white face in a halo. Will would have longed to kiss her if it weren’t for the trickle of dark blood escaping either corner of her mouth. The clockwork angel at her throat was split in two, the back half resting in the hollow of her throat, its innards of bronze springs and levers revealed.

            Will’s sobs were silent. No scream or cry or plea or word could describe the deadness inside of him as he gripped Tessa’s already cold hand and realized she was dead and would always remember him as the harsh boy on the roof. Calling for the others never crossed his mind as he sat there and sobbed, his tears dripping into the blood and glistening on the metal, the rusty corners of the spring glowing orange in the light of the flame.

            Will stood up and torn across the room in a fury, not caring if he was heard or not. He smashed the vase on a table in the door way then demolished that as well. He wrecked everything in his life and the lives of everyone around him, and now the chance to fix something _anything_ was gone. It like he was still cursed. It could be nothing else.

            He reached the dresser, and before he could drive his sword into the polished top of it, he noticed a slim sheet of paper under a stopwatch. Gingerly picking it up, Tessa’s blood smearing the ivory sheet, he read it, horrified.

 

_I hope you enjoyed your life so far. Because now is when the curse really begins. – M_

 

          Will sunk to the ground, the damp tears on his face were the last trickle of the dam, which had broken long ago.


	4. 19th Century Period Pains (TID)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucie gets her period and James is the most capable one there.

Lucie Herondale woke up that morning in a sticky, revolting puddle of her own blood. At the sight, she nearly screamed, then tried to breathe steadily and calm down so she could deal with the situation without waking the entire institute. Her mother had warned her about something with blood, but Lucie never paid much attention to what other people said. She was always too busy with the puzzles in her own mind. Thanks to her heedlessness, she was awkwardly trying to get out of bed with the sheets and the bottom part of her nightgown soaked in her own bodily emissions.

            She swung her legs over the side and groaned at the discomfort. But when she rose, a knife of pain ripped through her lower stomach like a burning torch. She moaned and shouted in surprise and pain as she fell to the floor.

            “Oh my god I’m dying,” she murmured, because she couldn’t make her voice any louder. Curing into a little helpless ball on the floor, she willed the pain to go away, and when it didn’t, tears accompanied the agony. She took to rocking back and forth and moaning as a way to distract herself from the worst of it.

            A knock at her door snapped her attention away from her throbbing insides, and all she could do was groan in response.

            “Lucie, darling, you’ve been sleeping forever. Get up!” her dad said with another series of quick taps. Lucie just groaned louder.

            Lucie’s vision was swimming from nausea, but she could still make out her father rushing toward her and saying her name.

            “Lucie, what happened? Are you-“ Then he saw the blood on her. On the bed. Will paled so white he could have been in a snow storm and no one would have saw him.

            “Dad, I think I’m dying.”

            “Oh, you’re not dying, dear.”

            “But-“ Will interrupted her, although he looked close to passing out. His forehead was beaded with sweat and he was breathing in gasps like a fish out of water.

            “Where’s your mother?”

            “I thought she was going out for the day to visit Aunt Cecily.”

            “Dear God!” Will shouted, then leaned against the bed with a hand on his forehead. Lucie was getting awfully dizzy and awfully hungry, like she had twin dwarfs wrestling around in her stomach, one hollowing out her insides and the other making a needlepoint out of her intestines.

            Footsteps on the tile pounded nearer and nearer until someone else was in the room with them.

            “Dad!” James shouted as he ran in from the hall. He stood at the doorway for a moment and assessed their predicament before running to Lucie’s side.

            “What’s wrong?” he said, concerned, and cupped her face with his hand and a new wave of pain was let out with hot tears.

            “I bled. A lot. And I hurt, oh god Jamie I hurt… A lot.” James finally tore his eyes away from hers and saw all the blood. After a moment of thought and a bewildered glance at their father, who was still swooning against the bedpost and mumbling to himself, turned back to her.

            “Where do you hurt, Lucie?”

            She gripped her stomach tighter. James nodded and stood, holding out a hand for her.

            “Congrats,” he said, after grabbing her hand and pulling her up when he shook her heard. A tsunami swirled in her stomach and she felt like she just peed. “You’re a woman, according to every other woman alive. Let’s get you cleaned up.” James led her to her tub, already filled with water. It was lukewarm, but it would suffice. Their father was still bracing himself again the covers, his eyes shut tight.

            “What?” Lucie asked, still confused.

            James sighed. “Didn’t mom tell you?”

            “Probably-ooowwwww.”

            “You’re menstruating; you have your period. It happens once a month, and, well, _this_ happens.” James went on explaining to her, giving her the rundown on everything she had been ignoring until it actually was happening.

            “Oh,” was all she had to say when he finished.

            “Yep. Now please, clean up. The smell of your blood is repulsing.” James said as he thrust a fresh set of clothes into her arms and went over to get Will out of his stupor. _It’s your blood too,_ Lucie wanted to retort, but she was rendered incapable from the misery. Before he left he ripped the sheets off of the bed and gagged.

            Lucie took off her soiled gown, got into the bath, and cleaned the blood off her legs and back. She already hated periods more than anything she had ever hated before. The pain had lessened now, but the constant gut-churning spikes of torture were enough to make her want to pass out.

            “Miss Lucie! Miss Lucie!” Bridget shouted as she ran into the room. Their maid was off for a sick family member, so Bridget was the only other lady in the house. Lucie sighed and groaned.

            “In here, Bridget,” she attempted to say loudly. It came out as a strained whimper. Bridget founder her and helped her get dressed again, spilling all the gory details of this event that James had left out as she did so. Lucie was now woozy for more than one reason. Before she left, Bridget looked at her sweetly and patted her shoulder. Stooped over on the bed, Lucie grimaced back.

            Suddenly Bridget gasped and clapped her hands together.

            “Oh! There’s a song that my town used to sing every time a girl got her first! I shall sing it for you!” Bridget opened her mouth wide and began with an ear piercing note that only upset Lucie’s stomach more. She grabbed at the end of Bridget’s dress and desperately tried to get her attention.

            “Bridget… Bridget! That’s enough, thank you. How… about… some tea?”

            Disgruntled from having to stop her song, Bridget’s pout turned once again into a sympathetic grin at Lucie’s request.

            “Oh yes, miss. I know quite the tea,” and she scurried away while Lucie curled up on her bed, squeezing the covers, and wondering what it would be like to die every single month.


	5. The Call From The Closet (TID)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lame af high school AU where Gabriel is an ass and Will is stupid.

“Get me out, Lightworm!” Will banged on the door in a fit of anger. Behind the locked door he heard a laugh and the smug shuffling of feet.

            “By the Angel, when I get out of here we’ll see how he likes it running around without his CLOTHES!” he shouted, hoping Gabriel was still in the vicinity to hear, or anybody, at that. But alas, the school was closed for the night.

            Will sunk to the back of the closet, an assortment of supplies poking at his back. He knew it did no good to try to pry his way out. Unfortunately, he got stuck in locked rooms quite often.

            The Branwells would worry when he won’t come home that night, although they should have been used to it, from the amount of times Will had stayed out late. But he couldn’t call then and say he got into a… disagreement with Gabriel yet _again._ No one he knew would be all that glad about helping him, much less Jessamine or Sophie or any other of the people Will called his friends since he had no one else. Jem wouldn’t be able to make it, and Will didn’t want to interrupt him, since Jem never could get enough rest between school and violin practices.

            With a gasp, Will dug into his pocket for his phone. _Tessa._ Her voice echoed in his mind from the week before, soft and all hers, grudgingly grateful.

            “ _I owe you one,”_ she said. Will hoped she was still serious about that.

            Last week their Drama teacher Ms. Dark accused Tessa of basically being the poster child for Bad Students, when Tessa did nothing, Ms. Dark completely blowing it out of proportion. Besides, most of the things she claimed Tessa did were Will’s doing or fault. Will confessed and took the blow, detention for him, but who knows what Professor Mortmain would have done to her if Will hadn’t stepped in? He always thought Mortmain was a military school dropout, quitting just so he could start his own institute of making children want to stab pencils through their eyes.

            Fumbling over the buttons, Will finally was able to type in Tessa’s number. Every ring made his heartbeat quicken. If Tessa didn’t come now, he would be stuck in the closet until school started tomorrow.

            _Wait, fuck._ He thought, bitterly.

            _Today is Friday._

_LIGHTWORM IS TRYING TO STARVE ME OUT._

            Now each unanswered ring caused an overwhelmingly spike of anxiety through his body.

            “Hello?” Tessa answered, sounding apprehensive and groggy, like she’d just woken up, but Will couldn’t care about that.

            “Oh my God thank God Tessa I’m stuck in a closet,” he spit out fast, finally letting the breath he was holding out.\

            “Will… wait…… um…”

            “Can you help me, pleasepleaseplease?”

            “Yeah…..”

            “Oh thank you… Angel”

            “What?”

            “Wait I meant thank you angel I was… swearing but um…”

            “Okay, Will. Just tell me where you are.”

            “I’m in the supply closet at school.”

            “Uh huh.” The condescension in her voice was expected, but Will felt to elaborate rather than argue.

            “Gabriel Lightwood locked me in here.”

            “Uh huh. And what, Will, did you do to him?”

            “Nothing! As of now…”

            “Okay, fine. I’ll come get you. Five minutes.”

            He hung up without a goodbye and left Will alone with his phone and a bunch of spiders in the corner of the door. He pondered the vast selection of glass cleaning sprays and cobweb ridden towels stacked disorderly on the shelves as he waited.

            It was well more than five minutes after Will’s phone buzzed.

            “Do you know which closet?” she asked right when he picked up, the faint squeak of her sneakers audible through the phone.

            “No, I think Lightworm drugged me.”

            Tessa sighed, annoyance clear. He could nearly hear her eye roll.

            “Alright. Pound on the door so I can hear you.”

            Will did just that, keeping his phone by his ear. Tessa must have done the same because he could still hear her breathing

            Pretty soon his arm felt it was dying from holding it up so long, and at the same time he heard footsteps racing closer and closer. He let his arm drop and waited until he could see the shadow of Tessa’s face through the opaque window.

            “I have nothing to open it with,” she said puzzled. Will yanked the key off the hook in the closet – janitors were extremely narrow-minded – and slid it under the door to her.

            She fiddled with it for a moment and miraculously, in opened. Will stepped out took a deep breath. Then he took the key from Tessa and placed it back in its spot before turning back to Tessa.

            “Thank you, Tessa. I suppose we’re even now.” She nodded and started to walk away, still facing him.

            “And I suppose you’ll need a ride.”

            “That is, unless, you would like to make me walk 8 eight miles home.”

            She shook her head, somewhat teasingly. “No. What I would like is an explanation.” He groaned and followed her to her car, a hand-me-down from her brother, rusted and beat, the gray paint job scratched. Along the way he explained, Tessa giving him a funny look most of the time. He could tell she didn’t believe him. When he was finished she sat at the wheel with her lips in a crease. Despite the accusation of being a liar Will expected to come, Tessa did not deliver in that respect.

            “So now how are you going to get back at him?” He sat in shotgun dumbfounded, and Tessa glanced over at him. They were nearly at his house already, but he wished he could sit and conspire with Tessa all night.

            Regaining his typical smug smile, he answer coolly. “That is a surprise, but I will let you know when it occurs.”

            Tessa sighed and rolled her eyes, but with a smirk hinted at the corner of her mouth. She pulled into The Branwell’s driveway as it extended into a grin.

 

*

 

 

            As the school year wound to a close, Will gathered with his friends during graduation, excitedly showing them an image in the school yearbook. The valedictorian was just stepping down from his speech with forced applause when the group of them burst out laughing, all save from Will and Jem who shared a knowing grin.

            “How?” asked Tessa, still laughing, both her and Will knowing why he had done this already.

            “Jem’s in the yearbook committee. I called in a favor.” He grinned and they continued to point and laugh, sneaking glances at Gabriel on the other side of the gymnasium, glancing back confoundedly.

            Next to his graduating brother Gideon, Gabriel had his own slot for a picture. But while Gideon’s had an awkward smile, hair hanging just a little too far down his forehead, Gabriel’s didn’t have a face. In fact, it wasn’t a person. A bucket, cropped so only little white showed, filled with gooey pinkish-gray-brown worms stood in his place.

            Will leaned over to Tessa and whispered in her ear, lightly brushing his lips against her curled hair.

            “This, Tessa, is payback.”

           


	6. The Fanfic Fiasco (TID)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm ashamed at myself for writing this. Tessa finds Jem's Wessa fanfic stash.

It was already well past two in the morning, but Tessa found herself unable to sleep. Everything just felt _off_ , especially with the Blackthorn kids. They didn’t know it, but they were in for some big trouble, soon, and Tessa was pulling at her hair because she had no idea how to help them. The only thing she’d done for them so far was to help Jem ding dong ditch Church at their doorstep.

            She sat up in her bed, her senses still foggy from sleep and her hair in an uncontrollable cloud around her head, sticking to the pillow with static. _Jem still hasn’t come to bed yet,_ was her first thought when feeling the cold side of the bed, still relatively neat and made, despite Tessa’s helpless tossing and turning. Biting her nails and still buzzing from thoughtful worry, she tossed aside the covers roughly and paced around the floor for a while before venturing out into the hall. To her surprise, she could hear Jem’s snores right when she stepped out of their room. She smiled. For a hundred-and-thirty-some year old man who had been basically disconnected from the world for a good lot of those years, he was awfully adorable sometimes.

            Slowly, she crept up to Jem’s study where he did his composing and reading and whatever when he wasn’t with Tessa, although there was an awfully comfy chair in there that Jem claimed was just for her. The door was already opened a peek, and Tessa weaned it open more and more until she could slip in.

            Jem was passed out, sprawled across his desk, one hand keeping his head somewhat upright and ruffling his hair into silky black feathers. His other hand was stretched out across the desk, a pen held limply and an astray composition paper on which it was resting. He was still dressed in a ragged old sweater that Tessa hated and loved at the same time. Quietly, she laughed despite herself and crept further into the room.

            Cricks and creaks seemed to squeeze out of the floorboards with her every foot step, but Jem’s snores easily over took the noise in the room. She got over to his desk and planted a kiss on his head before looking around his desk.

            Music. Music everywhere. Sometimes when Jem played Tessa saw him completely get lost in it, and she was worried that the music he was making _was_ him and every note would chip away at him until the violin and a sweet trill was all that was left of him. After finishing a song he would open his eyes and look around for a moment before he came back to her, to the real world that was not simply blotches of pen on a paper. Tessa could hardly complain; she was the same when it came to her wall of bookshelves standing tall and full in the living room.

            Despite Tessa wrapping her arms around Jem and his hideous sweater, he still doesn’t wake up. Tessa smiled bigger this time, and then after a glance around Jem’s desk something caught her eye. _For Tessa._ Biting her lip, she hesitated to pick it up, knowing Jem would give it to her when he wanted to, but curiosity won out.

            It was a poem. Written in Jem’s scratchy but elegant script, it was made on crinkled notebook paper and lines were scribbled out here and there. Tessa remember, just barely, Jem mentioning that although he never liked poetry she made him want to write it.

_“The trees aglow with moonlight so_

_Your eyes alight as if on fire;_

_I will follow you wherever you go-_

_Wherever you desire._

_No beauty can compare,_

_Do to not attempt to argue such-_

_For the thing that lights the world,_

_Not the sun,_

_But your soft touch.”_

            Tessa was in tears, from holding back her laughter.

            “Oh, James,” she murmured. “You tried. You tried so hard.” It was the thought that counted, after all. Tessa sure appreciated that he tried.

            She set the paper down, finally taking her hand away from her mouth and breathed instead of not-laughed. Intending to leave, she almost turned toward the door before another paper caught her eye. Instead of Jem’s writing, this was typed and printed in a somewhat neat stack. Tessa caught her and Will’s names in the scramble of words. Too confused and tried to stop for lack of better moral judgment, she picked it up and started reading.

            _“Will had Tessa pinned to the wall of his bedroom and was feverishly kissing her. He felt her fingers in his hair, running through the curls with slow, calm strokes. He felt the vibrations of Tessa’s soft moans in his mouth and was-“_

Tessa couldn’t read anymore; she was already keeled over with laughter, falling towards the floor.

 

***

 

            Jem woke up to his wife at his feet, curled into a ball of suffocating shrieks. Grogginess fell away and he fell down next to her, completely attentive.

            “Tessa, oh god, what’s wrong? Are you alright? Tessa?” Jem said, getting increasingly more worried as he peeled her out of her shaking ball. She lifted her face toward him, and he realized she was not crying or screaming, but _laughing._ Her face was bright red and her eyes squeezed tight. Laughs racked through her body and it seemed like she hadn’t breathed in forever until she let out a loud gasp.

            Then Jem noticed the papers she was holding.

            And what they said.

            And that she was holding them.

            And laughing.

            And then Jem decided he would go to Yemen and become a sheep herder.

            Jem flushed a brighter red then Tessa. She had uncurled from her ball of giggles and had rolled into his lap, still laughing, of course, and hugging her sides for dear life. He paused, reevaluated his life for a moment, prayed to Raziel, and then looked back down at Tessa.

            “Tessa,” he poked at her to get her to stop.

            “I-“

            Before he could say anything else she did.

            “James dear, I love you, and I don’t know what the honest hell this is, but I know one thing's for sure; you cannot write poetry. Stick to music. It will be better for everyone.”

            Jem is so stunned that he dodged that bullet that for a second he can do absolutely nothing but stare at Tessa, until she once again falls into her adorably loud laughter.

            Jem can’t help but laugh around with her, and they end up falling asleep on the hard floor next to each other until the blinding morning sun streams through the forgotten and unclosed window.


	7. Roadtrip (TID)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short-Will, Tessa, Cecily, and Gabriel go on a roadtrip. They all know it was a bad idea.

“I TOLD YOU IT WAS THAT LAST EXIT, YOU IDIOT!” Gabriel shrieked angrily, waking the worker by the register. At first she looked annoyed, but after she glanced at their rain-soaked group, she just shrugged and went back to snuggling with the cash box.

Will looked at him like he was trying to keep his cool but failing miserably. Tessa wanted to intervene, but knowing about Gabriel and Will’s past spats she decided to let this run its course. She and Cecily went to the bathroom to peel off their layers of wet clothes, drying them with the hand dryers while squeezing their hair into the soaked-paper towel matted sinks. Midnight and exasperation clung to their eyelids and they splashed water on their faces and downed a couple pills to keep their headaches at bay.

Tessa turned to Cecily and sighed.

“Who’s idea was it again to go on a road trip together?”

Cecily looked up for a moment as she was wringing out her hair and when she faced Tessa, they nodded and in unison, said, “Gabriel.”

Sleep deprivation hunching their shoulders, they trudged out back to the deserted restaurant to find their husbands standing in a booth with a map in between them, pointing and yelling. Groaning, they went and joined them, sliding into the respective seats.

“I’M NOT THE ONE WHO TOOK THE WRONG TURN AND STRANDED US IN A LOW CLASS CHICKEN PLACE!” Gabriel shouted, rather loudly, making the girls grab at their temples.

“Hey!” The lady from the counter growled at them, now fully awake. “This is a high class chicken place, thank you very much!” She glared at them once more until settling back into her chair. A buzzer from the back screamed and she ran back with more energy than the four of them had combined.

After she had left the arguing resumed immediately. Tessa was surprised they hadn’t been kicked out yet. Gabriel’s hands were turning white and red in their clenched fist and a vein was springing up on the side of his face. Will’s eyes were wide and bright.

Putting her head in her hands, Tessa groaned and shut her eyes, wanting nothing more than to sleep and not be sitting in wet pants. Cecily said, rather happily, “When do you think we should tell them they’re looking at a map of the Providence of Ontario, in Canada?”


	8. Wessa Teacher's AU Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1/2, and it's still unfinished, probably never to be completed. *sigh*

"If I have to try to convince  _another_ ignorant child that  _To Kill a Mockingbird_  is indeed racist, I will probably kill myself." Will practically fell on top of the table, coffee sloshing in the thin paper cup but not jumping out of the rim. His head made a satisfying thump on the table and Tessa snorted as looked over her papers, trying to ignore the ocean of black that Mr. Herondale's perfectly curling hair made across the grimy table in the teacher's break room.

It was past four o'clock on a Friday, and the school was all but deserted, but Will and Tessa made this their time to work together on the next week's lesson plans. In all honestly, however, they did more gossiping than planning.

"What's on the agenda for next week?" Mr. Herondale mumbled against the table.

"Hmm, a play reading, about a dozen school assemblies courtesy of Professor Branwell-"

"Ugh, not more pointless machinery showings. I thought the school board banned them after that one student lost an eye-"

"Oh, and there's a few poems that are in the textbook."

Will perked up at this, and sluggishly took a swig from his coffee before pointing out things on Tessa's color coded grid of units and events.

"I have a good video for that right there," Will said and scooted his chair closer to Tessa's, reading closely from an analysis she had printed out. He pushed up his glasses absently before sipping his coffee again.

"Could you send me the link?" Trying to keep herself from staring at Will's strong profile and laughing at the adorable way he crinkled his nose when he was concentrating, she decided to focus on work. That's what they were there for, anyway. That's all they were. Work partners.

"Oh, yeah, of course," Will said while pulling out his phone. He was so close that Tessa couldn't help but see his lock screen; a bright picture of him and a beautiful girl, laughing and smiling and hugging each other tightly.

Will must have seen her looking, because he smiled and held it up for her to see it better. "My sister Cecily and I at Christmas. Her fiancé took this." Will blanched and Tessa laughed.

"You don't seem to like him much."

"We could have met on better terms." Will smiled devilishly, the way that guaranteed a story behind whatever he was saying, the way that made Tessa's stomach crumbled into ashes of longing.

Their elbows were touching and their faces were so close that Tessa could feel Will's breath on her cheek. It was as if something possessed her, and Tessa found herself leaning in, and she kissed him.

Will made a muffled noise, and Tessa, in that moment realized what she had done. But then he was kissing her back and it was like every cell in her body was exploding.

She heard the door, but it was too late. She had just felt the light flutter of Will's hand grazing her chin when they both snapped apart.

Standing in the doorway was Jem, otherwise known as Mr. Carstairs, the orchestra instructor. The three of them had been close friends for a while, after going through a particularly grueling teacher's workshop together. He caught their guilty stares (and obviously much more than that) and his jaw dropped before he clamped it back together, then spun on his heel and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Tessa's and Will's faces were flushed such a red that Tessa wondered if it would stain. They both started stuttering, Tessa trying to apologize and Will trying to defend.

They settled into a profound silence when neither of them could find any words.

"I'm sorry," Tessa whispered.

Will looked like he was about to say something, but he just nodded and bit his lip. Tessa watched him stand up and shrug on his coat regretfully, feeling like she had just destroyed something. It was that feeling that a child would get after they build the highest tower they can out of blocks and then knock it down joyfully, but are only left with the ruins at their feet.

"I'll see you Monday, Ms. Gray," he mumbled. She could barely understand him with his face being turned away from her.

"Goodbye-" she tried to say, but Will was already gone.


	9. Wessa Teacher's AU Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of a never-to-be-completed Wessa fic (though this chapter is so Jessa it ain't even funny)

Tessa groaned and her head fell onto the table, landing in a position quite similar to Will's when he had first sat down. And now she was alone.

            Well, not completely alone. She had the gargantuan mess she made, and Jem-

            _Jem._

            Tessa leapt up from her chair and bolted out the door, disturbing her papers and causing them to flutter off the table. The door swung shut loudly behind her, the noise echoing down the long, empty halls. Will was nowhere in sight, but it wasn't Will she was looking for, not anymore.

            Her footfalls echoed, suffocating the air down the corridor as she ran to the music hall. The once she was in sight of the door she shouted "Jem?!" several times, hoping he was still there to answer her.

            No words responded to her calls, but the shrill sound of a violin hummed from the only practice room with a light on. The rest of the room and hall were dark. Tessa walked down the steps tentatively, listening as the spine-tingling shrieks flowed into a sweet melody. She could see the shadows of Jem’s arm slicing the bow across the strings. Even though she was intruding, even though she was there because of the scene he had just witnessed, she couldn’t help but be entranced by Jem’s music.

            Finally, she urged herself up to the cracked door and knocked, cringing when the music stopped, knowing she’d caused it.

            “Jem,” she said softly, but it sounded loud in the stark, buzzing silence of the room. It felt like a box that you’d emptied and now had no idea what to do with it and it was just taking up space instead of saving it. In fact, Tessa’s heart felt quite like that as she was trying to prepare what she would say.

            “Tessa,” he said, smiling friendly but shifting his feet awkwardly.

            “If you’re busy I can leave,” Tessa stuttered, almost hoping he would say yes and she could let go of the side of the door she was clinging to, hiding like a child.

            Jem cut her off, his protests and the furious thumping of her heart filling the buzz in her ears. “No, Tessa, that’s fine I’ll just – tidy up a bit – “ he turned in circles, setting his precious violin into its case and stacking his sheets upon sheets of music in a hastily organized pile. She didn’t really register anything that was happening as he ushered her from the hall and into the large, dark room, empty of its usual sound and light.

            Next time her senses awoke, provoked by the thick, awkward fog in the air, she and Jem we standing side by side in front of the piano, their arms at their sides, looking lost.

            Tessa knew they would get nowhere if neither of them did anything, and Jem had done nothing wrong to speak for. With a shaky breath, she started, “I-I suppose I could give you an explanation, tell you that you didn’t see it, that it wasn’t what it looked like, but you did see it and I don’t know if there’s any other explanation for what it was than the plain, stark truth, but I guess I just need to say I’m sorry. I honestly did not know what I was doing and I _still_ don’t really know, and I get that that was a real shitty thing to do to you since I think you know how I feel about you and-“ Jem had been listening patiently to Tessa as she poured her heat out to him in apologies, but he cut her off smoothly by firmly locking his lips on hers and cupping the back of her neck with his long, nimble hands. Tessa felt guilty for dissolving into the kiss after all that had just happened, but she lost herself in the softness of his lips and the feel of his chest against hers, and before long she had her hands tangled in his hair and they were leaned up against the back of the piano.

            Gently, Jem pulled away. She couldn’t even see the small gold flecks in his eyes or the flush of his cheeks in the dark, but she felt the heat from his face against her hand as she brushed it, bringing her hand back to her side, then locking her arms across her chest, desperate for more contact.

            “You don’t need to apologize to me, Tessa. I know you wouldn’t try to hurt me like that, and judging by the way Will stormed out and the way you came rushing here, I’m not the one who has some wounds to lick.” Damn it. He was right, as always. Jem always knew how to read her, and it might have made her feel guilty if he wasn’t so open and faultless. Sometimes Tessa worried that Jem could only see the good in everything, and one day he would be blindsided by the bad. She had seen the bad for herself, and she knew it was not a good thing to be caught unaware.

            “I think you need some time to figure things out,” he continued, their eyes still locked together and his hand resting gently on her shoulder while she hugged herself. “And I’ll give you that time, as much as you need. I’ll still be an arm’s length and a hallway away.” Tessa laughed lightly and she felt Jem smile more than she saw it. “I’ll be there, Tessa. You take some time to breathe and work stuff out.”

            She nodded, the words of thanks stuck in her throat and paralyzing the rest of her body. Jem knew that the thing with him and Will wasn’t all that she had going on, and just knowing that he’d be there when she needed to get away caused a warm feeling to fall across her skin, like lying in the sun on a summer day.

            She managed to squeak a tiny “Thank you” before Jem squeezed her arm, smiled, and walked back to the glowing light of his office.

            Tessa simply stood alone in the dark, noiseless room as the lingering warmth of his touch faded away.


	10. The Paris Feeling (TMI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only Malec thing I have ever written.

The Paris sky was cloudy, surrounding the streets and shops with a gray fog that seemed to make everything more vibrant instead of watered down. But it wasn’t the weather, perhaps, that made Magnus view the scenery in that way.

                Alec was messing with a hole in his pullover, looping his middle through it as Magnus linked his hand through his. Alec got a goofy smile on his face, like he always did whenever he was happy. Magnus found it adorable and smiled along as they passed a street performer, singing soft French as he plucked away on his guitar.

                “Is this why you love Paris?” Alec asked, cocking his head toward the musician. Magnus was caught up in the moment so it took him a while to answer, as well as think it over. Magnus wasn’t one for hasty speeches.

                “The music? The culture? The people? Well, I guess it’s far different from New York.” They stopped and listened to the guy, who looked fairly young and was actually very talented, regarding Magnus’ taste. “I don’t really have a specific answer, I guess. It’s just, I’ve always come here when I had nowhere else to be. It’s always been my home, If I could call it that.” Alec looked down at his shoes, flustered. Magnus had noticed he’d always looked flustered when he was thinking, no matter what about.

                “But what about here’s so special? If you erased the Eiffel tower and put the world on mute, it would be like most towns, not quite New York, though.”

                Magnus pondered that for the moment. “I can’t really explain it. It’s like when you have a stuffy nose and then you take that amazing medicine and you can breathe. It’s like I notice everything better. It's more livid. More alive. It’s like a bubble of optimism wrapped in the tears of stood-up lovers.

                Alec chuckled at that but Magnus could tell he wasn’t really into it. The clouds were parting, revealing bits of blue, like Alec, eyes, which at the moment reflected the dismal dark gray in the distance. The musician, finishing off one song, glanced at the scattering of money in his black case, and winced. He sighed, muttered a French curse that Magnus would have laughed at if he wasn’t so focused on Alec, and started a new song, this one slow, but with a lurking blithe in the strumming.

                Squeezing tight on Alec’s hand, partially wrapped in his shirt, he whispered lovingly, “Welcome home.”


	11. Style (TMI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ClacexTaylor Swift is so real guys.

Clary never meant for Jace to get into all the Taylor Swift hype. But it just _happened._ First, they were taking a break from training and _someone_ left the radio on. Neither of them really cared enough to turn it off. Blank Space came on and Clary started singing along through bites of a Danish, dancing in her place a little awkwardly. Jace sat in his place, completely enamored, and then asked Clary what the song was. Everything was so simple. She could hardly see any harm in it.

            “Blank Space by Taylor Swift. Her whole album is even more perfect than your hair.”

            He, of course, glared at her, and then just sat there stonily until the song was over. And then after. Even when Uptown Funk came on, Jace was unmovable. Clary got out of training for the rest of that day.

            The next morning, she should have been prepared. She found that Jace had stolen her iPod, probably after he snuck into her room in the middle of the night and tidied up her desk as well. At first, Clary smiled. _He is learning from the master._ When she went to meet him in his room, however, she was aghast. Taylor Swift’s admittedly angelic face covered nearly every surface in the room. A tall stack of CD’s in the corner was just multiple copies of Speak Now. Drapers, rugs, pillow cases; she didn’t even know that this stuff existed. She never knew it was possible to get this much Taylor Swift merch in a single night. Jealously tinged in her stomach before the fear struck. 22 was blaring from somewhere - an iPod doc with _her_ iPod in it. Turning around and around as if in a trance, assessing everything frantically, the horror struck. She’d made a huge mess, and had no idea how to fix it.

            _Oh my god, he’s gonna be like this forever. Forever and Always,_ she thought worriedly, grumbling as the tune was now annoyingly stuck in her head. Distracting herself, Clary snatched up a stray mug, saw that it had #SWIFTIE on it, and nearly started crying.

            That was when Jace came out of the bathroom, humming along to the music. Hiding the mug behind her back, Clary displayed the fakest smile ever known to man, while Jace matched it with an overjoyed one. Clary almost shouted. Jace had _never_ looked overjoyed. He never looked _over_ anything. This. Was. Bad.

            But then Clary decided to use it to her advantage.

***

            She waited in the training room. Despite his obsession, he wouldn’t miss a training session. Jace was like that. And Clary couldn’t have been more grateful when he came in on the dot, exactly as predicted.

            Setting the scene was a bit difficult because it couldn’t be too obvious, but she’d managed. With her bright red lipstick expertly applied and a few of the witch lights deactivated, everything was on point. She just had to wait for him to say the word.

            Walking in, he just blinked a couple times, and then waved to her, completely unfrazzled. That was fine. If he was as in deep as Clary though he was, the plan would be air tight.

            “You ready?”

            “More than ever,” she said with a smile, trying to look flirty but probably just looking agitated.

            “M’kay. Then let’s go.” He tossed her a sword and immediately got into sparring stance. Internally, Clary groaned, something she usually did externally, just because it annoyed Jace, but not today. She got into stance determinedly, but fairly weakly. Jace rolled his eyes and then moved in for an attack. As she was swinging a weak strike back, he easily disarmed her and had her at sword-tip.

            “C’mon, Clary. You can do better than that. You have got to work on your style-“ He froze, which was exactly what Clary wanted to happen.

            “You got that _James Dean_ _day dream_ look in your eyyyyyye,” she sung.

            “Clary no. Clary stop.”

            “And I got that _red-lipped, classic,_ thing that you liiiike,” At this point she had started dancing around him, trying to get him to dance along. He stayed stubbornly firm, although she had grabbed his left hand and wouldn’t let go. A creep of a smile was on his face.

            “And when we go _crashing down,_ we come back everytiiiime, ‘cause we never go out of style, we never go out of –“ Her heartfelt singing came to a halt when he kissed her hard on the mouth. He wrapped his arms around her and slowly broke away.

            “Is seducing me with Taylor Swift lyrics going to be your permanent game plan?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good, because it works.”

 

***

            “Why,” was all Alec said after coming into the training room a mere ten minutes later. He glanced at them, quickly turned around, and went back out the door. “Why me, always me.”


	12. Training Simon

"Cmon, blood sucker, you gotta do better than that!"

"IM NOT A VAMPIRE ANY MORE JACE I HAVE A SERAPH BLADE DON’T MAKE ME USE IT!"

"Not like you would know how."

Clary sighed, annoyed at the ever constant arguments between Jace and Simon. She monitored their duel to make sure no one got hurt, having her stele in hand for any emergency iratzes.

Simon swung an angry arc at Jace who easily sidestepped and jabbed at Simon, nearly hitting him if Simon hadn’t leaned away. Their conversation ceased and they got more intense, the inactive seraph blades dull in the dark weapons room.

Clary sighed and got up from her sketchbook, only Jace noticing that she was leaving.

"Hey, Clary, where are you going?" he looked over at her while deflecting a swing from Simon, who then got a slash at Jace’s thigh. Jace cursed and flashed his eyes from Simon to Clary waiting for a response.

"I was going to get some coffee."

"Why, isn’t our battle enough to spark some of your sexy drawing thoughts? I thought you looked pretty caught up in your sketching," Simon shouted to her with a wicked grin. She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

"I just-" she was cut off after Jace and Simon’s swords connected, then used them to flip each other’s feet out from under them. They both toppled to the ground leaving a string of curses and a flash of hair in their wake.

Clary immediately burst out with laughter, not minding the groans from the boys. They shot angry looks at her then at each other and proceeded to keep up the fight with their hands, swatting dazed fists at each other. Clary was nearly crying, she didn’t notice.

Finally managing to calm down and dissect themselves warily from their tangle of limbs and blades, the boys stood up shakily. Clary was too winded to talk, so Jace did for her.

"I could use that coffee now," he grumbled. They made their way down to the Institute’s kitchen-luckily Izzy wasn’t there-and Clary set up the coffee maker while the boys rubbed their bruises.

"Hey, hothead, I could use an Iratze," Simon called out to her, followed by limping over to her with a groan. She sighed and handed him a stele.

"You’re gonna have to learn to do them on your own."

"But ones from your parabatai are supposed to be more effective," he whined. "I’m hurt."

Clary shot him a look but then took the stele back roughly.

"Just this once. But you owe me twenty practice ones. Your irtazes look like stick people on a teeter-totter."

 


	13. Jace, the Housewife (TMI)

Jace was beginning to think maybe he pushed Clary too hard. Their training that afternoon had been vigorous, knife tricks, swordplay strategy’s, along with ever annoying visits from Simon. All week they’d been working on demonology and the creature’s weak points. Heavy weapons were selected, lectured, defined, practiced, and discarded with a heave, a cycle that had lasted hours. Clary, acting as interested and dedicated as her attention span could muster, was working quite hard compared to most of their sessions. But with her stooped trudge up the steps and the lilt of her limbs, Jace thought it was more than likely that she would collapse into a pile of red hair and black fabric.

Training, of course, was inevitable; all Shadowhunters got assigned demons to take care of at one time or another. And, with Clary and Simon’s _parabatai_ ceremony approaching, Clary had to be prepared. Going through a war didn’t count as hunting experience when you’re tracking down a demon, unfortunately.

Hopping up a few steps to catch up, not that it really took much effort, Jace squeezed Clary’s arms and whispered next to her ear, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder.

“Hey, nice job today. Your sword parries are really coming along.” All she gave him in return was an exhausted smile, her unfocused, droopy eyes glancing back at him for a moment. “You’re staying here tonight, right? You’re too tired to go home,” Jace said worriedly. He knew Jocelyn Fairchild would not be thrilled with Clary staying at the Institute, even though it was a typicality nowadays. But even she wouldn’t force Clary to navigate the way home this drained.

Clary’s features lifted like she was about to protest, but Jace doubted she was awake enough to get the words out, and before she _could_ say anything, he gently picked her up and carried her up the rest of the stairs, honeymoon style. She hesitated, like she wanted to protest that too, but Jace looked away from her. He wouldn’t have her pass out from overworked exhaustion.

            The rest of the Institutes’ residents were out for the night, exploring the city or shredding hell children or just getting away from the new pressures of the tension regulated Clave. That, unfortunately gave the floors and walls and everything in between in the Institute to sound as much like an abandoned zombie house as possible. Fortunately, Jace could tell Clary didn’t notice this the ways her eyes were nothing but slits and her arms waved carelessly around his neck. Clary’s room, a vacant guest room that she stashed some of her stuff in for when she stayed at the Institute, was at the end of the East Wing. The door creaked open with little objections, and Jace navigated a path around all of Clary’s flung out possessions to the half-made bed. He sighed and crinkled his nose, glancing around disturbed before he pulled the cover over her limp body. She still had on her weapon belt, but the seraph blade was sheathed. If it did turn out to be a problem whenever Clary woke up, at least it would be emergency training.

            It was a Saturday, sitting on the edge of summer. Clary’s birthday had recently passed. Jace couldn’t believe he met her just slightly more than a year ago. He felt like his life had been thrown in a dryer at a Laundromat and the customer hadn’t come back for him. Then the owner came and took him out and gave him to one of his daughters that had a shredding habit. He was such a different person, as well as Clary, that he thought if he went back and saw the both of them a year ago when they’d first met, he would have absolutely no idea who they were. He thought of this as he stared at a heap of shirts, jeans, worn boots, and what looked like one of Izzy’s cocktail dresses. He laughed lightly to himself as Clary’s whispery snoring began. Snoring to Jace was always annoying and loud, the opposite of sleeping, but Clary’s was endearing, not only because he loved her but because it made him think of the little sighs she let out when he kissed her.

            The coo of an owl perched on the outside window dragged Jace, reluctantly, out of his reverie. He glanced around the room again, the moonlight mingling with the artificial city and draping shadows over the folds and piles of mess on the floor. Jace bit his lip. Jace, himself, was always tidy. When things weren’t organized and clean, it bothered him. His fingers tapped on his belt, and he almost stuffed then in his pockets so he would stop with this obsessive behavior. Unfortunately, it overtook him. He became a frenzy, a quiet one, racing around the room and sorting discarded clothing, stuffing old wrappers in the miniature trash can in the corner. He straightened and folded and arranged all the loose paraphernalia drifting around the furniture, suffocating the floor. The rush of adrenaline he felt as the scatterings got thinner was more satisfying than the _shink_ of his sword striking a demon.

            Soon, the dimming light of night illuminated clear floor, fine outlines of furniture. The clothing and knickknacks that were laying around were safely tucked away. Jace felt like he could breathe in the room once again. He sat down on the edge of Clary’s stuffed comforter, surveying his finished job. It was clean. And Clary would hate it.

The New York skyline lazily awoke from its neon-plastered night into the soft colors of a late summer morning. Pinks grazed into oranges, settling into the stubborn gray-blue of morning. Jace had been awake for much longer than he should have been, but the rising sun made him feel more alert than ever. His drowsiness subsided. He immediately unraveled the order he had created that night, bringing it back to its cluttered catastrophe of morning. The folded clothes were wrung out and throw back on the floor. Wrappers were scattered throughout the room, spilled thingamajigs, and other random possessions went back to their rightful place. In Clary’s mind, anyway. Jace was pained, messing the room purposely, but Clary would put it back like normal in a day; Jace had seen it happen before. Better it was him who was used to total exhaustion.

It looked messy, if not quite to the degree he had found it as. Clary’s room had definitely had better days as well as worse, but for now he was satisfied. The background noises of commuters floated through the windows, the slowly darkening gray giving away the apprehension of a storm to come that day. The pinks, which had morphed into red, ringed the sun as it rose to meet the oncoming throng of black clouds. Clary laid in bed, her hair strewn across the pillow, her face buried in sheets. Jace smiled, and snuck under the covers next to her as the rumble of cars dimmed under the rhythmic waves of rain.


	14. What Did That Turkey Ever Do To You? (TMI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary brings Jace home for Thanksgiving.

Clary’s nerves were already in shatters, even before she saw Jace in Magnus’ clothes. She was grateful, however, that they had agreed for Clary to pick him up at the Institute, not come straight to her mom’s apartment. She couldn’t bear the idea of Jace showing up for Thanksgiving dinner in _this._

“Magnus said mundanes wear this to dinner parties,” Jace said when he was Clary, showing off the monstrosity and then giving a curious glance at her own checkered dress. It took him a moment. “By the Angel, those-“

“I thought we all were aware that Magnus is not the person to go to for fashion advice.” Clary teased as they headed up to Jace’s room.

Jace sighed. “I didn’t!” he shouted indignantly. “I went to Alec.”

Clary groaned and rubbed her temples. “I wouldn’t go to Alec either, since he gets _his_ fashion advice from Magnus.”

“Then who would I go to?”

“Izzy.”

“Ha. I’d rather go nude.”

“That might not be as bad as that sequined flamenco ensemble you got going on there.”

They were in his room now, and Jace was already rummaging in his closet.

“I’ll I have is black hunting gear.”

“Seriously?! _Uhg_ ,” Clary took over in the search for Jace’s attire, and found that that was mostly accurate. She ended up just pulling out a long sleeved black t-shirt and a pair of pants that had a minimal number of sheaths and belts on them.

She handed him the clothes with a stern look in her eyes. “We need to go shopping. And guess what?”

“…What?”

“Tomorrow’s Black Friday.” Jace gave her a perplexed look but didn’t argue as he went to the closet to change. Clary checked her phone when it buzzed. From her mom, of course.

“Where are you?”

“We’ll be over soon.”

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

“The Institute.”

“You’re not…”

“uwODJQWOkjwokd MOM NO”

“WE’LL BE OVER SOON OKAY BYE”

            Clary, flushed and angered, shoved her phone back into her bag, ignoring the next string of messages that came through. Jace came out looking more presentable than he was before, which wasn’t saying much. They left and walked down the streets of New York to the subway, which, as always, made Jace nervous even if he didn’t show it.

            The closer they got to Clary’s house, the more Clary’s nervous escalated. Even after saving the world and _themselves_ countless times, Jace and Jocelyn still had a frosty relationship. But even so, it had the potential to turn catatonic.

            “Hey, mom,” Clary said when her mom opened the door with a peculiar look.

            “Mrs. Fray,” Jace said with a nod, and waited for Clary to step in before following.

            “Hello. Clary, can you help in the kitchen? I just need to finish the turkey and potatoes.” Clary, who hated cooking, saw this as somewhat of an opportunity.

            “Oh, yeah, well, mom, Jace is a fantastic cook. I’m sure he would love to help you.”

            Jace looked at Clary with wide eyes that conveyed only one thing: _Hell, no._

            Her mother did relatively the same. But, for the sake of good social skills, her mother obliged with a twinge of annoyance in her voice.

            “Alright. Clary, you set the table then. Luke had stuff with the pack, but he’ll be here in about half an hour.”

            They all went off to their respective duties, Jace glaring the whole way as Jocelyn attempted to make small talk with him. Clary snickered, but hoped something good would come out of this. Maybe they would actually talk to each other from now on.

            Clary gathered all the utensils and set the table, then turned the small TV on to the Macy’s Parade. She got bored after a while and started texting Simon, who was doing who-knows-what right now, since he’d been more or less disowned by his family. The closest thing he’d come to eating turkey was drinking its blood.

            A loud crash from the kitchen got Clary’s attention. She figured one of them had just dropped something, but it sounded like a duel to the death was going on. Rushing into the chaos, Clary nearly started laughing in sight of the wreckage.

            Her mother was up against the refrigerator, grasping her chest and the pan of pie she was holding. She looked unharmed which was a relief. But Jace…

            Jace was surrounded in turkey shavings. He stood next to the oven, a grin cocked on his face, a short dagger resting on his arm. He looked at the pan on the stove, admiring his work. He looked unharmed as well, save for the sauce and meat that was littering his clothes and hair. But the turkey was in shambles. It had been dissected so thoroughly, so cut through that it resembled mashed potatoes more than a bird. Jace shot her an excited glance, while her mother glared at her, horrified. Despite everything, Clary found herself doubled over laughing so hard she could hardly breathe. Jace joined in eventually, but Jocelyn was already cleaning up the mess, throwing her hands around the room and no doubt giving them a lecture that they couldn’t hear over the sound of their pounding hearts and laughing.

            Just like it should have been, Luke walked in, and the family was complete. He came into the kitchen with a smile on his face, which then fell away as he said “What did that turkey ever do to you?”

 

“She _told_ me to carve the turkey!” Jace whined after Clary walked him out. Jocelyn was still steaming, just like the order of Chinese food they called in shortly after the turkey incident.

“She told you to carve it, not mutilate it to a pulp.”

“What does the turkey care? It’s already dead.”

“You don’t have to worry about any angry zombie birds, just my mother.” Jace sighed.

“She hates me that much?”

“She doesn’t _hate_ you, just the Shadowhunterness in you. And your culinary skills.” Jace laughed, although Clary could tell it was halfhearted. 

Just before they had gotten down the sidewalk, Jocelyn came running out of the apartment.

“Jace!” She shouted, which surprised the both of them. She handed him a bag, and said “We don’t need all those leftovers. And if I remember how Maryse’s cooking was…” They all laughed at that, and Clary could picture Izzy scowling at them.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Jocelyn said. From a pocket in her apron she pulled out the dagger Jace used to liquefy the turkey. “No more turkeys will dare cross your path,” She said with a wink and walked back to the house.

Clary nodded. “Left-over take out and a turkey shredding instrument. It looks like your relationship with my mother is blossoming.”


End file.
